


A Beautiful World

by peculiarmars



Series: Bad Blood [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Assassin Draco, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Torture, Child Abuse, Death Eaters, Developing Relationship, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Indoctrination Theory, M/M, Manipulation, Rewrite, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-07 06:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12834918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiarmars/pseuds/peculiarmars
Summary: [Beautiful Crime Rewrite]If we kill those whose blood is tainted, how pure is our own?Draco knows what is right and what is wrong. He knows the dichotomy of good and evil. Until, quite suddenly, he doesn't.(Raised-as-an-Assassin!Draco)





	A Beautiful World

He kept his footsteps slow and silent as he made his way through the darkened street. He had no reason to rush. His target was old, so old that he wouldn't be able to fight back if he really chose to hurt. But he didn't want to resort to that. He wanted this to be a clean mission.

 

He curled his fingers over the thin wood of his wand - 10" Hawthorn with a Unicorn hair core - as he readied himself as a precaution. Failure would only mean things that made his stomach twist. Failure by carelessness was utterly pointless, there would be nothing gained from it.

 

Ollivander's, The sign next to the shop said in gold, glittery lettering. Garrick Ollivander, the wand maker, the only one in Diagon Alley, the one all young wizards turned to, pureblood or not. His lips curled downwards in disgust; of course, good pureblood wizards and witches would still be able to acquire wands, but it was atrocious that mere muggles were lawfully allowed to acquire them.

 

Though, not for very much longer, he supposed. It was only too bad that the children had already gotten their school supplies for this year.

 

The shops windows were black, but he knew it was just a charm, he saw how it shimmered slightly. Ollivander was in there.

 

Gripping his wand tightly, he kicked open the door, the bell tinkling loudly.

 

"Oh, hello, I-" Ollivander turned to face him, and it looked as if someone had petrified him. The mask, the robe - he know why he was here. The man was a renowned wand maker, he was hardly an idiot..

 

Ollivander's hand went down to his jacket pocket, but he was an old man, and Draco was faster. 

 

 _"Expelliarmus!"_ Ollivander's wand flew into his hand. Ollivander audibly gulped.

 

"Why ever you are here, it doesn't-"

 

 _"Petrificus Totalus!"_ Ollivander fell to the floor with a thump. Draco grabbed his arm and hauled him up, throwing his stiff body over his shoulder.

 

He apparated away, leaving nothing but an empty shop behind.

 

Just like that, he was gone.

 

    

* * *

 

Draco forcibly silenced a groan as he came to. Waking up after missions was always. . . not exactly painful, but rather uncomfortable, something about the way they were bound. He opened his eyes for a moment, quickly shutting them against the harsh white light.

 

"Draco." He opened his eyes again and squinted at the figure standing next to him. Master Lestrange.

 

Master Lestrange was a tall, fair-skinned man who oozed power. Draco had always been slightly terrified by him, and he had no doubt that Master Lestrange knew. There was no hiding anything from him.

 

"Were you seen?"

 

"No, Master Lestrange." He answered truthfully. In this instance he had no reason to lie, but on other missions where he had been glimpsed, he had been completely honest with his failures. Master Lestrange did not take deceit lightly.

 

"Good." Was all he said. He waved his wand and the ropes binding Draco to the chair vanished. He sat up and rubbed his raw wrists.

 

He wasn't dressed in his mission robes, he was in a pair of thin grey shorts that went down to his knees, a white long-sleeved shirt and a dark green sweater vest, a green and silver tie knotted below his throat. The Riddle pin was attached to the tie, a symbol of where he belonged.

 

Draco was sent down the winding halls to the classroom that was currently teaching History. He slipped in silently, not one of the room's habitants turning to look at him, even though he knew they had sensed him.

 

He settled down in his chair, leaning forward and listening carefully. He had always found History lessons entertaining, whether they were learning about the Goblin Wars or the Witch Hunts, or the more recent stories of Mudbloods trying to erase Wizarding culture.

 

"Draco," Rodolphus Lestrange called on him, Master Lestrange's brother. He, unlike his brother, had not been able to escape an Azkaban sentencing, and had only recently taken his freedom in a mass breakout. He had called it an honour to teach such fine young purebloods.

 

"Yes, sir?"

 

"Who ordered the unlawful arrest of Bellatrix Lestrange, myself, Fenrir Greyback, and many other Tom Riddle supporters?"

 

"Albus Dumbledore." He answered without having to think, the question an extremely obvious one. He could've answered that when he was six. Rodolphus smiled.

 

"Correct. Albus Dumbledore is an incredibly dangerous man, and he is incredibly clever; you would be a fool to deny his cunningness. Albus Dumbledore is a rather prominent thorn in our side, and sooner than later, he will he erased."

 

He had heard it many times before. Albus Dumbledore was a lying, manipulative bastard who needed to be taken down. He ordered the sentencing of Death Eaters to Azkaban when they were merely protecting their rights as pureblood wizards. A mudblood lover. Absolutely vile.

 

"And who is the man willing to risk everything to save us from him?"

 

"Tom Riddle."

 

   

* * *

 

The true skill to fighting was not how tall your are or how much you weigh, it is how you use your strengths and how ruthless you are willing to be. The first rule of a fight was to have no limits on what you are willing to do.

 

Draco knew this first-hand, which was why he was often sporting bite marks. Pansy was rarely kind when it came to training, only if he was painfully injured she would hold back slightly, though not enough to arouse suspicion.

 

"You got the wand maker?" She asked as he readied up his shot. He pulled back his arm, and then threw the blade forward. It landed in the chest of the dummy with a thud.

 

"I did." He said as she readied up her own shot. Her knife landed in the dummy's forehead.

 

"You know, I heard talk while you were gone-" She glanced around the training room to make sure the others were oblivious to their conversation, "-about another mission. Something about Gringotts, and about Hogwarts. Something big is happening soon."

 

"You're not supposed to eavesdrop." He said, while being internally curious about what could be happening. Surely, it would have something to do with Albus Dumbledore, especially if something was happening at Hogwarts. He had never been to the grand school himself, but he would admit that it sounded interesting.

 

"Like you wouldn't of if you had been there." She rolled her eyes at him. She was right, of course, but he wasn't going to admit that to her face.

 

"Where was this conversation?"

 

"Outside our dorm, merely ten minutes after you had left. I was the only one still awake. I doubt they would've discussed it if they had known. It was Master Lestrange and his brother. They mentioned Bellatrix, though."

 

He had only met Bellatrix Lestrange once. It had been at his formal initiation into the Death Eaters, and he had applauded her loyalty, but privately believed she was slightly mad. Creative with curses, he had learned of what she did to the blood traitor Longbottoms', but to him, she never seemed to be all there.

 

"I am curious about whatever they're planning, but there's nothing we can do."

 

Pansy sighed. "I know, I'm curious, too." Then she brightened. "Well, we'll find out sooner rather than later, I suppose."

 

"I suppose so," He echoed.

 

    

* * *

 

That night, Draco lay with his left arm chained to the bedpost, unable to sleep and staring at the tattoo on his forearm. When the Dark Lord wanted to see them, it would move, and the longer he went without obeying the more it would burn.

 

One time, not long after he had been branded, the Dark Lord had tested their ability to withstand pain. He hand been the fourth one to be tested, and he remembers the exact way his stomach had twisted at the sight of Gregory's wet cheeks, of Vincent's blood-stained lips or of Theo's shell-shocked expression. He was not fond of pain, who would be? But he could deal with it.

 

He had writhed and shrieked in front of the Dark Lord, and the pain was so great that in those moments he wanted to claw his arm straight off. But eventually, the pain stopped, and he had been shooed away. It was the type of pain that stopped when the Dark Lord ordered it to, but also stayed with you for days afterwards. It was impossible to explain.

 

Draco pulled his blanket tighter around himself and willed himself to sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated!


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